The End (Written April 15, 2019)
Death is no defeat. It is the final battle.
When it is done all works must come to cease.
The sun sets. Night comes, and the long day ends.
Let me not meet that setting in midstride.
Not hesitating on the threshold,
Not waiting to begin while distracted,
Thinking, perhaps, there is time yet for other things.
But no! The end approaches, swift.
Let me not greet it looking down, tired and worn,
But with my head aloft! Eyes upon the Cross,
On the eternal throne of almighty God!
It is Holy Week, now. It is a good time for contemplation. Two things, specifically, today, have gotten me to writing this poem:
I dreamed, again, I was told I was dying; and, of course,
the tragedy that is the fire in the Cathedral of Notre Dame.
It is hard to not consider your life, your purpose, in light of things like this. How would I react, really, in the face of encroaching death? I like to hope I would remember what I am actually facing: not a defeat, not an end, but one final struggle for my ultimate goal. The first image of the inside of Notre Dame after the fire was put out and, I think, it expresses my sentiments well:
All around is fire and destruction, but God remains. Through whatever calamities may strike, God remains.
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